And Michael — where to begin? You’ve given me countless special plants through the years: heirloom peonies, perennial sunflowers, lilies of the valley.

As Thanksgiving approaches and people express gratitude for family, health and other blessings, I’m also feeling grateful for my gardening friends and the treasures they’ve shared with me.

When a friend gives you a start of a plant from his own garden, you’re receiving so much more than a bucketful of muddy roots or a handful of little seeds.

With that humble gesture, your friend is saying: “Here, special friend and fellow gardener. Here is a treasure from my own garden that I have grown myself and that I think will bring pleasure to you, too.

“And I don’t give these to just anyone, you know — only people like us, people who are gardeners!”

It’s hard to imagine a more wonderful gift: It is one that your friend has created with work and care, one that is given only to deserving people, one that can bring years of beauty and enjoyment to your life.

Oh, and the stories.

When you are given a “pass-along plant,” as these are often called, you usually get a story, too.

Michael’s peonies — which are vigorous, fragrant and floriferous — embody all that is good about heirloom plants. He doesn’t know what variety they are, but they were planted more than a century ago by his grandparents and are still going strong.

Michele’s magic lilies fall into a different category. She doesn’t do much gardening herself but knows that I’m somewhat obsessed, so when church friends of hers were giving away their excess bulbs, she nabbed a few.

I was so touched that she thought of me, and now every August when those satiny pinkish-lavender flowers appear out of nowhere, I smile and think of her.

Years ago, my friend Steve gave me some seeds of evening primrose.

Admittedly, many people consider the evening primrose a weed, and it does have a habit of spreading hither and yon. But you could also say that it requires little care and pops up charmingly in sunny nooks and crannies.

In midsummer, tall spires of delicate yellow flowers open at dusk.

“My wife and I like to sit out in the garden at the end of the day and watch the primroses open,” Steve said at the time. “For us, that’s pretty exciting!”

My face must have revealed my skepticism.

“Really!” he continued. “You can actually see them pop open.”

Well, by golly, he was right.

You know those time-lapse videos that show a flower progressing from bud to open blossom in a few seconds? That’s what the opening of the primrose is like — only in real time.

Now, if I’m weeding on a still summer evening and the sky is taking on a pink glow, I might pause to wipe the sweat off my face. If I happen to raise my head at just the right moment, I’ll see a primrose bud pop open.

I can’t help chuckling. Maybe Steve and his wife are watching their primroses open, too.